


Pygjolras

by mumbled_jumbles



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Enjolras is one of his sculptures, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Grantaire is a Mess, Grantaire is a sculptor, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Misanthropic Grantaire, Pining Grantaire, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 23:21:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19095094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumbled_jumbles/pseuds/mumbled_jumbles
Summary: It is perhaps five AM, and Grantaire is in love. With a fucking statue. (Eponine will have a field day.)





	Pygjolras

It is perhaps three or four AM when _it_ happens. Later Grantaire will try recollect the exact time, for sentimentality's sake, and fail. In his defense, the clock that came with his apartment, nailed to the dingy and now dust-coated wall, has been broken for as long as he can remember. His phone is dead probably, though he hasn't checked it in several hours. Joly's undoubtedly left some sort of worried voicemail(s) and/or text(s), and he appreciates someone, y’know giving a shit about him, but he’s inspired, and can’t afford to be distracted. Eponine really knows best when it comes to these things. It is best to let Grantaire work, while he is in a state in which work is possible, even if he’s borderline obsessive—okay, maybe not so borderline—about it.

 

In context, this means that Grantaire's been in the studio for well over ten hours, and is slightly delirious due to lack of sleep. There is a faint pain in his stomach, which he probably subconsciously attributes hunger, but that's far overshadowed by the pains in his back and neck from craning them at awkward angles, the cramps in his fingers and soreness of his feet. Dawn has not yet broken, so he’s working under the yellowing ceiling light, which is unflattering, at best. Still, even under the terrible lighting, Enjolras looks beautiful; eyes full of bright and valiant righteousness, despite being colorless; nose, cheek, brow, and jaw sharp and perfectly smooth; body slender but strong and well-defined.

 

Enjolras is Grantaire’s masterpiece, started as a final project for a sculpting class in art school, but never completed in time for the deadline, instead becoming his life's work. His friends, few as they are, don't always approve of how much time he spends in the studio, neglecting his own body to sculpt Enjolras's. But, if they could see the beautiful clay figure now, he thinks, they would agree that it is worth the countless all-nighters, the skipped meals, the soreness of Grantaire's increasingly gaunt body.

 

He raises a gentle hand to caress Enjolras's cheek, letting his eyes flutter shut as his exhaustion catches up with him momentarily. And Grantaire, for perhaps the first time in his life, is entirely grateful to the world, for giving him the resources to make the statue, which though inanimate, moves his heart in a way that he doesn't have enough words to explain.

 

(Dawn has not yet broken. Grantaire doesn't check the time.)

 

Strangely, the clay is warm. Not normal, soft clay warm, but almost as if heated from...within. In fact, the clay feels surprisingly, well, skin-like for clay. Grantaire opens his eyes, and starts in shock, his hand pausing where it was stroking Enjolras's cheek. Which is no longer grey, but a pale yet healthy complexion, turning rose under his fingertips. 

 

"Hey, quit touching my face!" The statue protests indignantly. Then his nose scrunches, and a furrow forms in his smooth brow, as he takes in Grantaire's dumbfounded and mildly manic expression.

 

"Er, are you alright?" Enjolras asks in a more polite, if rather stiff tone.

 

"I'm perfectly fine," breathes Grantaire, eyes further, impossibly widening. "You're finally perfect!" _I’m also hallucinating,_ he thinks, but he doesn’t say this out loud. He doesn’t want to make an entirely bad impression on this very handsome, very naked…statue-man, after all. Grantaire gets lonely sometimes, when Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta prefer each other’s company to his, or when even Eponine cannot deal with his darker moods. Enjolras—he could be Grantaire’s friend! He can imagine it already: the two of them taking therapeutic walks around the local park, having slumber parties on Grantaire’s creaky twin bed, going to those amusement parks/puke generators that everyone is so crazy about, drinking Grantaire’s shitty wine in joyous toasts to platonic companionship. Really—Grantaire made the dude for god’s sake; he deserves some good karma.

 

Smiling slightly, Grantaire tears himself from his thoughts, and looks up to meet the statue’s simultaneously radiant and stormy eyes. They are fixated on him and are shooting a withering glare. (God, he’s beautiful.) Grantaire, mildly confused—which is a great load better than he was a few minutes ago—cocks his head inquisitively, and molds his face into what he hopes is an empathetic and understanding gaze. It only makes sense, he considers, that Enjolras would be angry. It must be a difficult transition to go straight from being a nicely shaped chunk of clay to a nicely shaped human adult. The preteen angst Enjolras never got a chance to experience is probably catching up with him right now, Grantaire supposes. That's alright, Grantaire thinks. This is familiar territory. Grantaire knows how to deal with angst. His friends don't call him Dionysus for nothing.

 

He pulls his emergency flask out of his pocket and smiles at the raging godlike figure before him.

 

Enjolras seems to momentarily forget glaring, and his eyes widen in horrified disbelief

 

"Is that a flask?" He sputters out, face flushing beautifully. Grantaire just gives him a look.

 

"No, it's Capri Sun fruit punch," he quips, deadpan. Enjolras pays him no mind, choosing to resume his intimidating (and very, very sexy) glaring. 

 

"And what was it that you said before? About me being perfect?"

 

Grantaire gives him another look. "Look dude," he begins, tiredly. "I get that the gift of life is a huge fuckin' burden. But this—this is ridiculous! I've had a long night—day. So can you just, like, take the fucking compliment? Please?" He rubs his eyes, and for a second, he thinks the statue, whose face has gone lax, _gets_ him. Maybe his hopes for simple friendship are not misplaced, and they will be able to reach a mutual understanding. Maybe they have a chance.

 

Of course, the universe doesn't like him _that_ much, and after a brief moment, Enjolras's eyes take on a dangerous glint.

 

When the statue begins a passionate rant (about how the concept of perfection is a "harmful and utterly useless social construct" which "should be burned to the ground, not encouraged—uh what's your name…? Yes, you absolutely should not support such norms, _Grantaire..."_ Well, Grantaire knows he's fucked. There is no hope for him. He will never be just friends with the guy, not when Enjolras said his name like that, when there's a living, breathing, righteous, and very naked angel/social activist statue in his tiny apartment. 

 

So, Grantaire sighs in defeat and watches Enjolras speak, beautiful hands gesturing emphatically. And when dawn breaks, the morning sun illuminates the statue's golden hair and catches in his fiery blue eyes, and surrounded by grey dust and dried clay, Enjolras looks like Apollo personified. 

 

It is perhaps five AM, and Grantaire is in love. With a fucking statue. (Eponine will have a field day.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my lovely readers! I recently got into the Les Mis fandom and, well, I decided to try my hand writing in in it. I love the ExR pairing, and although this is utter crack, haha, I hope I didn't butcher it. As always, please review! Whether you comment about something that you liked, or give me constructive criticism, I always appreciate your input, which helps me expand my perspective and grow as a writer. Thanks, and enjoy!
> 
> -Rose:)
> 
> (Disclaimer: none of these characters are mine; the plot is mine and was inspired by the myth of Pygmalion)


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